


Limbo

by yeaka



Series: Yutopian Zoo [23]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Ears, Animal Traits, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Christophe survives while Victor’s off with Yuuri.





	Limbo

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is set in the same partial-animal AU as some of my other ficlets, but it’s stand-alone and you don’t need to read them for this. (Long story short, human!Victor bought serow!Yuuri from the zoo and they’re babysitting the director’s Chris!cat.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri on Ice or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The second bedroom in Victor’s cabin is small and unimpressive—it’s unadorned, sporting nothing but the bed and shelves, though the closet’s full of Victor’s boxes. Christophe’s made his own nest atop the mattress out of sheets and blankets, even though he used to prefer the living room. It’s the central hub of the house, and the light hits it perfectly—Christophe loves warm patches. But there’s no wall between it and the loft above, so when Victor and Yuuri embrace each other, Christophe can hear _everything_.

He can smell it, too. The scent up the stairs is overbearing, coming from Yuuri’s glands: the sort of things that wild animals use to mark their territory. That, at least, doesn’t linger all the way down the hall to where the second bedroom is. The stench of _sex_ covers it. The whole house is musky. And it’s driving Christophe _crazy_ , because he can’t do a single thing about it.

He’s trying his best to take care of himself, of course. He’s stripped out of all the nice clothes that Masumi bought him, and he drags his hips against the mattress, desperately seeking friction that just won’t come. He’s spit in his hands and rubbed himself raw, come half a dozen times, and still it’s not enough—it’s like Yuuri’s rut has sent him spiraling into a fit of primal urges. Christophe’s always been a sexual creature, and he’s even been around animals in ruts or heat before, but not like _this_. He hasn’t _lived_ with them, been left alone twenty-four seven while his babysitters fuck each other’s brains out. It seems so cruel, and Christophe whimpers as he humps he bed in endless circles. 

As soon as he hears footsteps in the kitchen, Christophe freezes. His ears perk up, listening, fluffy tail flicking back. He’s left the bedroom door ajar, and he considers rushing through it, tackling whoever it is right down and begging them to take him. He wishes he were still at home with his handsome owner. He always knew how to make Masumi fuck him. All he’d have to do would be to brush up against Masumi’s legs, stark naked, or stretch across Masumi’s lap on the couch, or just lick Masumi’s hand until he got attention. Masumi gave him _so much attention_. And Victor and Yuuri tried, up until the rut came.

The bedroom door pushes open, and Victor steps inside. Christophe straightens up immediately. Victor’s jeans are only half buttoned up, and his fuchsia shirt is hanging open. He’s clearly exhausted, and his skin is flushed, beaded with little drops of sweat here and there, chest and neck full of bright pink finger-marks and teeth-grooves. Yuuri must be having fun.

Christophe isn’t, and he crawls on hands and knees to the edge of the mattress, while Victor settles down beside him.

Victor rakes a few silver strands back from his own eyes, then asks, “How are you doing?”

Christophe just groans—he doesn’t even know where to start. He nuzzles his head against Victor’s shoulder and drags his torso across Victor’s side, but Victor shuffles away before Christophe can line up their hips. Christophe fights his body to control himself. When Victor sees that Christophe isn’t going to try that again, he reaches out to run his fingers through Christophe’s hair, petting Christophe just like he’s always loved.

It isn’t enough now, but it’s still good, the best Christophe’s had in days. He plays to Victor’s hand, following it and pressing into it. Victor quietly explains, “I’m sorry I can’t give you much more right now—I don’t think Yuuri would appreciate the smell.” Victor wears a soft grin, like it’s half in jest, but Christophe whimpers anyway. He never wants to come between Victor and Yuuri, but he hates to be excluded all together. Victor tells him, “At least Phichit should be here soon. Oh, and you can use my phone to call the director if you like.” He uses his free hand to fish his phone out of his pocket and place it next to Christophe, thought Christophe only stares at it. “His number’s in there. Do you know how to use it?”

Christophe nods, because he _does_ , he just usually chooses not to play with human toys. He tries to explain, voice a ragged moan: “But that’ll only make things worse—hearing his voice and not being touched. Can’t _you_ touch me?” He already knows the answer, but he still presses: “We’re open—my master wouldn’t mind...”

“But _we’re_ not open,” Victor sighs. He sounds genuinely sorry, maybe not for being unable to fuck Christophe, but just not to help him. Christophe understands. He can see that Victor’s already handling enough. Victor still offers: “You can come up and sit beside the bed if you want; Yuuri would probably pet you too.”

That does sound nice. Except Christophe can’t even get near the smell, so he shakes his head. Victor sighs, “I’m sorry.”

Christophe murmurs, “Okay,” and nuzzles into Victor’s hand while he can. 

But then another noise drifts in past the kitchen, probably from the living room—Yuuri must be up. Victor’s head snaps to it instantly. And he lifts off the bed like in a trance, leaving Christophe for the doorway.

He pauses there and looks back, giving Christophe a sorry smile. Christophe tries to smile back. He doesn’t miss the way that Victor’s eyes stay on his face, even though Christophe’s not wearing a stitch of clothing, and that’s supposed to mean something to humans.

Then Victor goes. Christophe can hear them reuniting in the living room. He lies back down, whining to no one, and stares at the phone.


End file.
